


Hetalia States (Mostly Oklahoma) Oneshots

by ArsenicKoolAid0795



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Gen, Multi, Native America/ Oklahoma (parent/child relationship), Oklahoma, Oklahoma History, Oklahoman historical figures, US History, i needed to get all these shitty oneshots out of my head
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-05-25
Updated: 2019-06-02
Packaged: 2020-03-17 05:49:46
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,619
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18959149
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ArsenicKoolAid0795/pseuds/ArsenicKoolAid0795
Summary: Is this fandom still a thing? I sure miss it. I have some oneshots to write for you guys, so here’s my offering. I will try to make sure all my stories and historical references are cited. Thanks for reading!





	1. On the Subject of Names

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> On the Subject of Names.
> 
>  
> 
> Oklahoma thinks over her history and thinks of all the names she’s ever worn and the two that she’s kept her whole life.
> 
> Takes place in prehistory up to statehood in 1907.

She’d had an old name once, one she can’t remember that meant something that has no meaning now. It’s in Caddoan Mississippian, a language she cannot speak anymore, but she can remember running barefoot into the arms of a young woman with conch shells on her dress and bronze in her ears. When she spends time in Spiro, she can hear that woman calling her name the same way she can taste rain in the air, fleeting and forgotten. 

 

Francisco Coronado crossed into her land so briefly she hardly remembers the Spaniard, other than the time he bent down from his saddle on his strange deer and lifted her little face with his gloved hand.  _ Little wild one,  _ he called her in Spanish,  _ pequeño salvaje,  _ and Spain at his side had laughed while Mexico did not, looking down at her with strange sad eyes. She hadn’t understood why Mexico was so sad, when she was so beautiful and wealthy, but she did now.

 

The Plains Tribes call her She Under Foot _. Always in the way, sounds like,  _ Texas would tease her later, when Comanche Nation tells the story. Her growth slows now, so slow she’s hardly growing at all. By the time she’s seven and the Five Civilized Tribes arrive in her territory, she’s an accomplished horsewoman, riding a brindle pony, wearing wildflowers in her hair.

 

Native America gives her a new name, as the old woman tucks Indian Blanket blooms in her braids with old gnarled hands like the talons of a red tailed hawk. Cherokee and Choctaw suggest it, both of them older than her, with broad scars and bent shoulders. By the time Seminole arrives and she knows what the name Andrew Jackson means, she has grown accustomed to her current name. Adsila means blossom, and it means family for this little girl who does not grow like other girls do, and who learns what that means for her from Nations who’ve been battered and bruised and forced into her territory.

 

The Confederacy calls her Indian Territory, holding her chin between long slim fingers, a warm smile of Southern Hospitality on her pretty mouth. She treats Adsila like an adult, expecting her to become a state in her new country, to be a part of her family when the War is over. Adsila likes Confederacy, even if she’s not sure how she likes the way she treats other humans as her slaves and property, treating them like livestock. Her older brothers, Cherokee and Choctaw and Chickasaw, who all own slaves, like her too. 

 

Adsila meets Texas for the first time when she meets Confederacy. He’s a tall boy with bright eyes the color of the sky on a cloudless winter day, cool and wild blue, tan skin and sandy blond hair. He carries her on his shoulder, teasing that they’re a living map and if Kansas were with them, he’d have carried her on his other shoulder. He makes her crowns of wildflowers and teaches her to shoot a rifle and holds her hand in his when she meets the other States, like Arkansas with his knack for mimicking birdcalls, loud and brash Louisiana, sweet but fiery Georgia, the proud and beautiful Carolina Twins.

 

Texas, or Sam, gives her a nickname. He toys with  _ Sila, Adi,  _ and settles on  _ Ada. _ And when the treaties are signed and Indian Territory is a part of the Confederacy officially, he bends down onto one knee and tells her to be brave during battle and kisses her forehead, and both cheeks. Adsila feels her heart jump into her throat when he swings into his saddle and rides away from her.

 

The Civil War ages her quicker than before, and she’s fifteen when she’s shot off her horse at the Battle of Honey Springs. The Union calls her savage, heathen, traitor and she likes all those names. She hates him; his government caused the Trail of Tears, it was his men who abandoned her refugees in Kansas. Union named her savage, so Indian Territory gave him savage. Her generals are the last to surrender and she is brutalized by the Union and their need to punish someone. Confederacy doesn’t die, but arrives in Indian Territory big and round and pregnant, and Adsila is the first to hold the blue eyed boy she brings into the world in early July. He grows faster than she ever will and likes to call her “IT” and she vaguely dislikes him for that.

 

In 1880, when Alfred F Jones (not Jackson, not his mother’s name) is taking his place as America, and Adsila is grabbed by a Cavalryman on his orders, she gets a new name. She’s thrown into the saddle of a bay gelding, held to the chest of an officer, no matter how much she fights him, no matter how she kicks and screams and fights to get back to Native America and the Five Civilized Tribes. Native America tries to reason with the United States, but he brushes the old woman aside and goes back to Washington. When Ada is dumped in Guthrie and meets George Washington Steele, the old man gathers the crying girl up in his arms and pets her wild hair, rocking her like a grandfather might have. He tells her she’s to become a state, the 46th in the Union and be given a new name. She wants to tear out her hair and scream and just keep the name she has. As the buffalo herds are hunted down, she feels each bullet like they’ve been aimed at her heart. Powerful men toy with splitting her in two. They fumble with names until one is settled on. Her new name feels strange and familiar in her mouth, a butchery of the languages of her Five Tribes. 

 

But it feels right. She was a daughter of the red earth beneath her bare feet, the wild twisting sky above her. She doesn’t show tan anymore, no more than a mixed blood might have, because there’s too many white men living within her borders. In 1907, as she stands next the Charles Haskell on the steps of Guthrie’s library as he’s sworn in as Governor, she feels like her new name is hers. 

 

_ Land of the Red Men, land with dirt as red as blood. Let America remember that, _ she thinks, unmoved by the mock wedding, untouched by the November wind. She’ll always be Adsila, the wild child with Indian Blanket blooms woven into her hair, silver spurs jingling on her boots. She’ll still carry that name. She was a state now, with a war and a genocide and a land run or five under her belt. 

 

_ Let America remember, I was Native America’s daughter first. I was born in red dirt. _

 

Oklahoma stands in Guthrie, and can’t remember her old name

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Couple headcanons I’ve included:
> 
> 1\. Each Native Tribe has a personification. The woman Oklahoma remembers at the beginning is the personification of the Mississippian people, also known as the Moundbuilders.
> 
> 2\. At the onset of the Civil War, the first America dies, leaving Union and Confederacy. When the war ends, the current America is born. The Confederacy is his mother. Her human name is Charlotte Jackson.
> 
> 3\. Oklahoma’s state wildflower is the Indian Blanket. She always wears one, because she’s trying to remind everyone around her that she’s still as wild as they are


	2. Oklahomaisms

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Or: Weird Shit Oklahomans say.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As an Oklahoman, I have made all of these statements.

**_Y’all_ ** _.:  Noun. Oklahoman for_ _you all_ _or_ _all of you._ _Take caution. If Oklahomans ever say “you all.” shit is about to get real._

State meetings are always a little more interesting after football season. Some states are butthurt, like Arkansas and Michigan and Ohio -every year, without fail- while others, like Alabama, are always smug. For others, like California, Oregon, Washington, Nevada, states that don’t focus on football, the infighting of the South and Midwest means very little to them. The North…..

well the North is just happy to be talking about College ball and not the NFL.

Oklahoma usually has pretty good teams. The University of Oklahoma usually has a pretty outstanding football program, while Oklahoma State puts a pretty good fight up as well. She’s proud of her teams, her wardrobe during football seasons altering from crimson and cream to orange and black every Saturday. Fall revolves around two days for her: OU vs Texas, and OU vs OSU. God help anyone who distracts her from one of those games.

This year, she keeps her head down at the state meetings, opting to hangout with Louisiana and avoid Alabama. His college team had beaten hers in the Big 12 championship, and went on to play in the National Championship.

Alabama is on the warpath, and Oklahoma is his prey.

“Still healing up from the absolute beatin ya took, Okie Pokie?” Bama smirks, leaning against the kitchen counter. Oklahoma has been helping her older sisters South Carolina and Louisiana start supper. She was on dessert duty. “You still seem a little salty about getting drowned by the Tide.”

“Y’all get away from me, Bama. And don’t call me Okie. I hate that and I’ve told you before.”

“Ain’t you gonna stop him, Tex?” Scarlett asks, as she slides into a chair next to Texas at the kitchen table. Texas barely lifts his head from his paper, shrugging.

“Ada can fight her own battles. She gets mad when I get involved. Sides, I ain’t got any interest in takin one of her right hooks.”

Alabama says something else, something about having the money to pay off the referees, and there’s a sharp _ting,_ and a yelp.

“I told you. _You all_ get away from me.” Ada’s voice is low and tight, venomous as a coiled rattlesnake. She’d brought her sharp paring knife down just between Andrew’s index and middle finger, missing the tender inner skin by a hair’s breadth. He could have lost a finger if she’d been less careful.

Other states had seen her draw blood for less during the Old West Days.

“Crazy bitch..”

Ada smirks and pulls the knife from the countertop and flicks it in her fingers. She points at Andrew with it. “Yea, after a hundred and twelve years of y’all’s collective bullshit, I probably am a little crazy. So why don’t y’all run along and go play with Mississippi?”

Alabama turns on his heel and starts out of the kitchen, only pausing at the doorway to attempt a witty response. Oklahoma’s paring knife embeds itself in the doorframe. Scarlett yelps for Andrew this time.

“And remember, I don’t have to miss.” Oklahoma says with her brightest, sweetest smile, startling under her venom green eyes. “Y’all run along now.”

“And that,” Sam says to Scarlett as he goes to pry the knife out of the door frame before Virginia sees it and they all get in trouble with their oldest sister, “is why I don’t have to fight Ada’s battles. She’s nasty with a knife.”

Ada drops a plate of sliced apples, ones too ugly to go in the pie, and blackberries too soft for the cobbler on the table between the other two states. She takes the knife from Texas and grins at Georgia. “Y’all oughta see me with a gun.”

 

 **_Bless your heart:_ ** _adjective. Oklahoman -or Oklahoma Baptist- for_ _you really are stupid._ _This is never a compliment, but it’s the most subtle way to tell someone who stupid you think they are._ **_Bless your little heart_ ** _is less subtle and more condescending._

 

California is a talker. California goes through phases of snotty bitch and laid back surfer. There is literally no in-between. Whenever the states get together for America’s birthday or whatever, California is the biggest wildcard. No one is really sure what they’ll get. And somehow, California ends up right next to Oklahoma and Hawaii.

Ada tries to tune Malibu Barbie out, but they just keep talking, complaining mostly about the wildfires and earthquakes. This is usually a sore topic, because Tornado alley, and The Dust Bowl.

“Bless your heart,” Ada comments as Cali continues, dramatic as always. Leimomi bites her lip to keep from giggling, her eyes focused intently on the piece of pork on her plate. “All those droughts and wildfires, why it’s practically the Dust Bowl...”

California at least has the decency to look sheepish.

“Droughts And Wildfires.” Ada snorts when finally Cali had taken off with Nevada. “We’re in the middle of tornado season and you don’t hear me complainin…”

Hawaii wipes her mouth as delicately as possible and laughs. “Bless your heart, Adsila; tornadoes tornadoes tornadoes. I’ve still got you beat.”

Oklahoma’s eyebrow lifts. “Got me beat? Bring it.”

Leimomi cocks her head and smirks wolfishly, a strange look on such a young face. “One word for you: Volcanoes.”

 

 **_Sweating like a whore in Church/ Sinner on Sunday._ ** _Adjective: Oklahoman for hot as fuck._

“Hoooooot.”

 

“I know Ada.”

 

“ _I’m hooooooot.”_

 

“I _know,_ Adsila.”

 

“Goddammit Sam, I’m half naked and I’m still sweatin like a whore in church!”

Oklahoma should really be used to hot weather during the summer, but spending the week in Texas’s apartment with a busted AC was not how she planned on spending her vacation. If she’d wanted to be hot, she’d have taken him up on his offer to drive down to the Gulf and camp on the beach.

She had not planned on laying face down on his kitchen floor in front of the fan, in a sports bra and a pair of his boxers.

Sam barely lifts his head from her back, where he’d been laying. He’s down to shorts, just as miserable as she is. “well… you could get full naked and I’ll give you a reason to be hot..”

She reaches back and smacks the top of his head. “Dirty old man!”

“I’m only sixty years older than you!”

“Exactly.”

He groans and sits up, looking down at her. “You’re lucky you’re so damn cute or I’d just let you melt here.”

“But you won’t…”

“Damn you Okie.” He gets up off the floor with a yawn and pads over to the icebox. “We’re gonna run out of popsicles and beer at this point.”

“Then put on some pants and go to the grocery store. your legs ain’t painted on.”

“I sure liked you better when you were all sweet and shy.”

“We wouldn’t have as much fun if I was,Ta-haaaas. Bring me a blue one.”

Texas drops back to the floor to lay against her, offering her the frozen treat he brought. She sighs and just holds it for a while, enjoying the cold for a fleeting moment. She’s just about to cut the top open when….

“COLD!” She shrieks and starts to flip over, ready to throw an elbow into Texas’s face. He grabs her arm and pins her down, laughing at her sputtering.

“Said you were sweatin like a sinner on Sunday.” He smirks and kisses the back of her neck. “Thought I’d help.”

“I said whore in church, get it right dumbass.” She squirms, wincing as she feels the bit of ice melting between her shoulder blades then down her back.

“Be still.” He nips at her shoulder blade, before dropping his head to the melting popsicle at the center of her back. It’s still cold, just melted, and she whines when he licks it off her skin. He kisses down the line of her spine, hands gripping her thighs to keep her still. Her head drops to the tile floor, hands digging into her own hair. He smirks at the back of her head,dropping his chest to press against her back, his pelvis against her ass. “Told ya I’d give you a reason to be hot.”

She whines and rocks her hips back, sighing when he kisses along her neck. “Tex.. Sam come on…”

“Maintenance! I’m here to fix the AC?” The maintenance man had perpetual bad timing, but neither State was about to complain. Texas hops to his feet and grabs his shorts and wallet, at least making himself presentable before he opened the door. Oklahoma slinks off the floor like a lazy cat, slipping on her boyfriend’s T-shirt.

 _You’re gonna get it later, brat._ Sam mouths as she smirks and vanishes into the bedroom. He swings the door open and leads the repairman to the unit.

“Sorry it took so long gettin here.” The repairman explains, “three other units in the complex went out. On a day like today, I can’t imagine not havin AC. Lord, I’m sweatin like a sinner in church..”

Sam smirks when he hears Ada giggle from behind the bedroom door where she’s eavesdropping. He flips her off when he thinks the other man isn’t paying attention. “Man, you have no idea…”

 

 **_If it’da been a snake, it’da bit ya._ ** _Adjective? Noun?: Oklahoman for “It’s right there, are ya blind or just dumb?” Often a phrase used by mommas whose children are completely ignoring the fact what they’re looking for is right next to them._

“Arkansas, what are we looking for again?” Oklahoma blows dust off the lid of a trunk and pops it open, sorting through the stacks of old yellowed papers her brother had shoved inside. Arkansas had called her to come down to Fayetteville to help him sort through some old artifacts that he had. With the flooding along the Arkansas River during tornado season, some of his museums had been damaged and some of the artifacts destroyed.

Miss Laura's Bordello was a particularly sore spot for him to think about.

“I’ve got some letters from Judge Parker to some of the Marshals. Back when you were Indian Territory remember? I figured since the gallows got waterlogged in the floods, that I’d donate them to get revenue flowing again.” Arkansas drops another box down onto the floor next to her and carefully comes down the attic ladder.

“Of course I remember, Isaac.” She rolls her eyes and elbows him playfully. Sorting through her own box, she pulls out a stack of old photos, smiling. “Hey can I have copies of these?”

“You don’t have any photos of Bass? Wasn’t he like… your teenage crush?”

“Shut up and leave Bass Reeves out of this. Can I have this one or not?”

“Take it.”

The two states dig through more boxes and pile old letters to be donated beside them. Arkansas and Oklahoma have always had a closely tied history. Arkansas’s Fort Smith at Belle Point was the only source of justice for Indian Territory until the Major Crimes Act. US Marshals came from Ft. Smith to take criminals into custody when they tried to get away into Indian Territory. Oklahoma remembers very distinctly being about seventeen and going with Arkansas to the gallows to watch Cherokee Bill Goldsby hang for murder. Even as they grew up into the modern era, Isaac was one of Ada’s closest allies, along with Texas and Kansas. After the bombing in her Capital, it was Arkansas who rushed to her aid first.

“So I am confusion…” she starts to tease him as she reads through another letter from Confederacy to Arkansas. “Why is..”

“Shut up Adi.” Isaac warns, ever touchy about the pronunciation of his name, “I am so over that vine. Hey, have you seen my glasses?”

She looks up at him and her eyes nearly cross at the stupidity of the question he just asked her. She sure loves him, but damn is he dumb sometimes.. she sits and watches him for a minute, biting back the giggle that’s trying to escape her like a cicada from its burrow.

“It ain’t funny, Okie, just help me look!”

He continues to look around, tossing papers aside, moving photos, reopening the boxes around him.

“I swear if those glasses had been a snake, they’da bit you.”

Arkansas stops and smacks a hand on top of his head. “Sombitch.”

  


**_Cherry Limeade:_ ** _Noun: Oklahoman code for “let's sneak out and go make out in your car.” Has been used by too many Oklahomans to be a freaking coincidence._

State meetings are boring.

Wisconsin is doodling cows on the margins of Michigan’s paperwork.

Minnesota and Alaska are playing paper football from across the room.

West Virginia is curled up under the table, asleep.

Oklahoma is fiddling on her phone, heels kicked off under her seat, hair starting to come undone. She can’t pull of that professional look like Kansas can, not for too long. Susanna will look over and roll her eyes, but Adsila just ignores her when she does. She’s busy playing pool on her phone, waiting impatiently for Wyoming to play his turn.

Texas leans over her shoulder and watches, his hand on her knee.

Massachusetts is still droning on and on about increasing tourist revenue.

“Hey baby.” Sam whispers against her ear, making her jump. She smacks his arm when he snickers.

“What, douche?”

“I sure could use a cherry limeade.” He grins as she cocks an eyebrow, a slow smirk creeping across her face. His grip on her thigh tightens.

“Could you? Do they even have Sonics in Chicago?” She leans into him, pretending to be casual. It’s a whole lot easier to pretend to just be friends than to admit they’re together. When it came out that New York and Massachusetts were dating, America almost had a breakdown. 

New Hampshire shushes them, and Oklahoma fights down her deep seated desire to punch him in the face. Hampshire is still as British as Oklahoma is Native. Every time Ada sees him, she screams “SMALLPOX BLANKETS.”

Cherokee nearly wet himself the first time she did it in front of him.

“If you manage to find one, and actually get cherry limeades,” Kansas whispers, without looking away from the presentation, “bring me a Vanilla Coke and some Chedd’R Bites..”

“I am not your errand boy.. girl, Susanna.” Oklahoma grumbles, leaning away from her boyfriend. Texas pouts.

“I’ll cover for you. I’ll buy you enough to for Sam to teach you how to tie a knot in a cherry stem with his tongue.”

 The fact that Susanna knows their codeword is a little disarming. But, like someone old and wise once said “never look a gift horse in the mouth, especially when there’s cherry limeades on the line.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> State Human Names:  
> Alabama: Andrew  
> Arkansas: Isaac  
> California: Barbie  
> Georgia: Scarlett  
> Hawaii: Leimomi  
> Kansas: Susanna  
> Oklahoma: Adsila  
> Texas: Sam
> 
> Miss Laura’s is actually a museum in Ft Smith, Arkansas. It’s the oldest remaining bordello in the state. It’s also reportedly haunted. Ft Smith is flooding right now and besides the damage to their historical properties, they’ve also seen a sharp spike in the venomous snake population. Thank god I don’t live there anymore.


End file.
